


sea poem

by mireailles



Category: Vinland Saga (Manga)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fantasy, M/M, Selkies
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-28
Updated: 2020-11-28
Packaged: 2021-03-09 18:15:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,947
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27750637
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mireailles/pseuds/mireailles
Summary: Selkie AU. Thorfinn/Canute. Years after his father's death, Thorfinn finds employment on a boat and meets a strange boy with pale white skin.
Relationships: Canute/Thorfinn (Vinland Saga)
Comments: 2
Kudos: 11





	sea poem

When he is a boy, his mother tells him stories.

Thinking back on it, he barely remembers the tales, can hardly recall if he actually sat still when she told them. Mostly, he remembers the fire roaring and warming the living room, casting long shadows, waiting for his father to come home. She told tales, Thorfinn reminences, to pass the time, so he wouldn’t worry. 

So, when he’s young and the door is thrown open--not by his father but by Leif. Leif, older than his father with even taller tales than his mother could tell. He has his old straw hat in his hands, scrunching up the edges of it. He tells his mother to come sit down by the fire where it’s warm and to put Thorfinn to bed. That it’s too late for a child to be awake, that it’s a tale for adult ears only.

Ylva takes him to bed and he doesn’t learn what happens to his father until the morning after.

His mother’s pale and doesn’t manage to make it out of bed in the morning, so Ylva takes over and she tells him what happened to their father. A storm had lurched the fishing ship this way and that. The next thing anyone knew Thors had fallen overboard and when they find him again, he’s cold and pale. He’s unresponsive, Leif tried to revive him but he’s too far gone. Thorfinn presses his fingers on the table, gripping the edges of it until his fingers turn pale. 

Ylva asks him if he understands when she finishes and Thorfinn doesn’t respond. She doesn’t push it but she mumbles something about him being hopeless. He doesn’t understand. He doesn’t understand how his father--built like two sturdy trees falls overboard. He can’t comprehend how waves, even in a storm that lurches a boat, manages to catch his father. And most of all, he can’t picture how they find his father, clinging to a rock, completely unconscious. 

Funeral arrangements are made, mostly with Thorfinn hanging back like he’s not sure if he’s supposed to be there. They pass by different shops, on their small island village. They buy flowers, wash their formal wear (and for Thorfinn buy him formal wear) and then--they pick out a coffin. He doesn’t get to see the body until the funeral, both his mother and sister decide on that. The church is almost as stuffy as his shirt. Ylva slaps his hands when he starts to pull down on his collar. Leif is the first mourner. He puts his hands over Thorfinn’s mother’s expressing his condolences, and then his mother and Ylva greet the others flooding in while he stands off to the side.

Thorfinn pulls at Leif’s pants and Leif leans down as if they’re sharing a secret. “Mr Leif,” he says carefully. “I know you’re telling the truth about everything but.”

“But?” Leif says.

“But could it be that you’re wrong, about how my father died.”

Ylva’s the first to react, she pulls him by his ear and he hisses. He’s dragged out from the small shack where his father’s body is lying, open casket and all. Candles off to the side. And Ylva keeps repeating over and over, ‘What is wrong with you?’

Thorfinn doesn’t answer her, just watches as his father and Leif become nothing more than figures with indeterminate features. He feels tears welling up in his eyes. Days later and he still doesn’t come close to understanding how his father dies. How, they need to put so much makeup all over his body, which has so many angry welts all over his arms and legs when he supposedly smashed into a rock--the same one he was found on.

  
Years later and he’s on a boat.

He’s on one even though both his sister and mother disapprove. Ylva’s louder but his mother seems strained over his decision. He leaves the house with Ylva’s kids and husband behind. Watches as they become specks on the horizon. Her kids are still waving frantically and Thorfinn puts a hand up even though he can’t discern who’s who anymore.

Askeladd’s leaning on the railings. He looks on in a strange, amused fascination at Thorfinn as he sails away from his family. He’s had that same look since he first laid eyes on Thorfinn at the marketplace. Eager to pick up another hand for his small fishing vessel. Days later and he understands fully why Askeladd’s picked up another hand for his boat. 

The man does absolutely nothing, with Bjorn picking up the slack for him instead. The worst part is, Bjorn doesn’t seem to mind or maybe he just doesn’t care. He gets up at dawn--they both do, have breakfast and toss their nets into the sea, hoping to catch something. But for all Bjorn’s height and posturing, he’s slowing down. Thorfinn can see it in the way he lumbers around, a slight limp in his steps and when they pull the net into the boat and he’s much faster on his end than Bjorn.

What Askeladd seems to do, that Thorfinn manages to decipher, other than sleeping all day, barking out orders and staring out blankly at the waves that rock the boat, is warn for impending storms and steering the boat. It’s odd, like an artist’s innate sense of curves and contours, whether it’s from the body of a model or a mountain in the distance, the tops covered in snow. He witnesses it the first time about five days’ after they’ve left port. He’s watching wordlessly as Thorfinn and Bjorn pull in the net. His face completely stoic. He touches Bjorn’s shoulder and that’s really all that’s needed for Bjorn to pause, turning to face Askeladd.

“That’s enough for today, a storm’s headed our way.”

Bjorn nods, a look passes between them and then it’s gone, like the flickering of a dying flame. Askeladd walks over to the cabin, touching Thorfinn’s shoulder as he’s passing by. Thorfinn looks back, watching Askeladd silently open the door, enter and then close it shut.

They’re gutting fish, rocking and swaying.

“Why are we listening to him?” Thorfinn spits. “He barely does anything.”

“Lad,” Bjorn says, more softly than Thorfinn expects. “He’s the son of a fisherman, knowing these things--it’s in his blood.”

“My father sailed the seven seas, there’s not a cloud on the horizon.”

“You wait and see then,” Bjorn says, pointing his knife at Thorfinn.

The storm doesn’t arrive then, it takes until the sun dips low on the horizon. A darkness blanketing them and then, as if the sea is looking for retribution, the waves rock violently. Heavy rain drops feeling like daggers on his skin. He raises an arm, looking to shield himself from it. Distant rumble of thunder and lightning flashing across the sky. 

When it’s finally over, at sunrise, Thorfinn has to push open the door, horribly battered from the storm. He spots Askeladd staring out at the waves. He’s leaning over the railings, deck still slick with water and fish guts from the day before. He narrows his eyes as if trying to discern something from the distance. 

The fourth time it happens, it’s even more unsettling. 

Before, it’s mostly just storms or a rough patch of sea here and there. This starts at breakfast and it’s the only time where Thorfinn feels it too. Like goosebumps on the back of his hand or the hair pricking on his back, it’s an odd sensation he’s woken up to and one that doesn’t let go even when Askeladd puts both his feet up on their small table, making it harder to eat.

He peers out one of the port windows. “You can feel it too, can’t you, Thorfinn?” he asks, not bothering to look at him.

“What?”

Askeladd sighs, long and overdramatic. “A full moon on the horizon, I feel it in my bones. Witchcraft’s a foot.”

“Sounds like an old wives’ tale,” Bjorn says, voice passive and unconcerned.

“Maybe, but some tales have truth to them, question is, does this one?” Askeladd’s gaze lingers on Thorfinn, almost piercing him.

He takes both his feet off the table, one arm propped up on top of it and the other flung out on the back of the chair. He watches silently as Thorfinn gets up from the table.

“Whatever,” he says.

They haul and gut fish just like the last few weeks as Askeladd’s staring down at the murky waters below. He barely registers the amount of blood, salt water and fish guts on the deck as Bjorn and Thorfinn start culling them. Thorfinn leans against a mast, his father’s knife in his hands, slicing in then tossing the fish guts. He grimaces, it would’ve probably been advantageous to bring a cat on board, making clean up easier. Bjorn’s a complete savage, cuts too deep into the fish, almost splitting it in half. 

He’s complained many times to Askeladd on the matter but to no avail. He only hopes Askeladd doesn’t dock his pay because Bjorn’s uncouth about the process. The rare times Thorfinn’s been on his father’s boat and he’s picked up the skill, mastering it. His father, massive in height and build, taking his knife, cutting into the flesh, the way one does as if sculpting on a fragile piece of wood. A steady hand clasped on the fish, carefully taking the knife and piercing the flesh, hooking the guts and letting it all spill out.

Askeladd turns in early that day, while he and Bjorn sit around the table for dinner. Both with nothing much to say to each other, he turns his chair so he can pretend Bjorn isn’t actually there. Taking large bites of bread and salted fish, he rises when he’s finished, goes to his own quarters, away from both Bjorn and Askeladd. 

Something wakes him up in the middle of the night.

He doesn’t know what, just that he’s gasping for air, like he’s surfacing from the water for the first time. Bjorn’s back is turned to him, loud rumbling snores that rival his father’s coming from his bed. He gets up, hearing the wood creak against his feet, feeling the steady rhythm of the rocking boat. He opens the door, raises his hand to his face, the moonlight almost blinding him.

He spots Askeladd leaning against the railings. There’s a pause and then he’s gripping them, leaning over as if he’s spotted something. In a swift movement, he shoves past Thorfinn and grabs the net. Thorfinn can only watch as Askeladd manages to drag the heavy net and drop it into the water. Askeladd tugs at the net, Thorfinn peers out into the sea. He spots something that looks like sea foam in the water, except it doesn’t disappear. Askeladd’s got whatever it is tangled up in the net, hauling it back up. When the net flops out on the deck, Thorfinn just stares at the thing.

Entangled in the netting is a seal skin, pure white, like freshly fallen snow. Askeladd bends down, starts to cut at the net and Thorfinn grabs his hand as he’s cutting through a piece of the rope.

“What are you doing?” he shouts. “We need that.”

Askeladd pulls away from Thorfinn’s grip, looks down at the seal skin. “Relax lad, we’ll patch back it up in the morning.”

“Like hell you will.”

Askeladd shrugs, a careless roll of his shoulders. “This skin is worth more than any of the fish we’ve caught and salted, got that?”

Thorfinn’s bitter all morning as both him and Bjorn’s patching up the completely ruined net. They’re sitting side by side, trying to tie back the loose ends of rope. Thorfinn sags, it’s hot out on the deck and he knows just from his side that the net probably won’t last another day. Whatever Askeladd’s done to it, it’s beyond saving. Askeladd’s still staring out at the sea, Thorfinn knows that he’s hidden away the seal skin. He’d shown it to Bjorn in the morning and then spirited away the seal skin in a trunk, locked and whose key is cradled on a necklace around Askeladd’s neck.

Surprisingly, the net manages to survive the morning but by dusk, parts of it are coming loose and when Thorfinn tries to engage Askeladd on it, he waves him off from his spot. 

“Bjorn,” Askeladd says. 

Bjorn pauses, hands still tangled in the mess of a net. “Somethin’ wrong?”

Askeladd doesn’t respond but he nods out into the ocean. Bjorn drops his half of the net and moves so that he’s right next to Askeladd, peering out into the waves. One hand shielding his eyes. “Got it,” he says before jumping into the ocean. 

He bobs back up in the water, holding on to a thin, fair-skinned boy, completely unconscious. Askeladd instructs Bjorn to lay him down gently. He has a pile of seaweed covering him from head to toe like a cloak. It’s wrapped around his pale, skinny body which Thorfinn almost mistakes for a woman at first sight. He breathes as if sleeping and dreaming a peaceful dream, chest rising and falling.

They put him up on one of the spare beds in the cabin.

Askeladd stares at him from a distance, the same way he did to Thorfinn--like an opportunity that can’t be missed. He puts his feet up on the table, one hand slung over the chair and the other on his chin. Bjorn tears into his piece of bread. “There’s a good opportunity here,” Askeladd says suddenly.

“The fuck you talking about?” Thorfinn mumbles. 

Askeladd nods, chin pointing to some spot on the table. “You didn’t see?”

“See what?”

“The ring--the one that boy has on his finger.”

“Why not take it from him, boss?”

“You two are such simpletons,” he says, throwing his arms up. “That ring looked expensive, sure, we could take it from him and sell it for a good price. But, we could also tend to him, he’ll be grateful enough to give us more than that ring, wouldn’t you say?”

Bjorn shrugs like he doesn’t quite know or care what’s going on. Thorfinn rolls his eyes. Askeladd puts his feet down, putting an elbow on the table, one hand cupping his chin, eyes with a completely unreadable expression. Thorfinn turns in for the night, feeling goosebumps on his skin as he passes by the strange boy’s bunk. Eventually both Askeladd and Bjorn turn in. Bjorn first, always the one to make the most noise as he drops down on his bunk but the first to fall asleep as Thorfinn hears him start to snore. Askeladd comes in later, when the moon’s on the horizon, still full and casting pale, silvery light on the deck. 

There’s a flash of silver at his throat when he wakes up. 

“Don’t move,” the boy says to him, his voice hot against Thorfinn’s ear. 

Thorfinn swallows, feels his mouth going dry. He’s halfway between sitting up and lying back down, the boy’s body pressed on top of him. He considers shoving him off, the boy’s probably lighter than him, hair tickling his face. The boy moves, bringing his lips closer to Thorfinn’s ear. 

“My skin,” he says, voice shaking and desperate. “I know you guys took it. I need it back.”

Thorfinn blinks a few times. “What?”

“The seal skin,” the boy says, pressing the knife to Thorfinn’s throat. “It’s mine, take me to it.”

“Alright,” Thorfinn says, the blade grazing his throat as he does so. “Let me get up.”

“Do it slowly,” the boy says hotly.

The boy pulls Thorfinn up and together, like a strange, disjointed dance, he manages to get Thorfinn off the bed. There’s a pause and he hisses in Thorfinn’s ear, “Well?”

Thorfinn puts both his hands up. “It’s locked in a trunk, Askeladd has the key.” Thorfinn looks behind him and he can see the boy scrunch up his face in confusion. “The old blond guy. I’ll grab the key from him but you have to be quiet.”

They creep over to Askeladd’s sleeping form, Thorfinn hanging limp against the boy’s grip on his throat and body. He stares at the hand holding the dagger--his father’s, how quiet the boy had been to slip it out of the sheath. He’s taller than him, Thorfinn thinks begrudgingly but his hand is so smooth, pale as milk--or moonlight. 

Askeladd has his back turned to them, the leather strap of the necklace jutting out. From the tiny slivers of moonlight coming through the thin curtain of the port window, Thorfinn spots the knot on the chain. It’s a sailor’s knot, one that he’s seen done many times from both Leif and his father. He reaches for the necklace and the boy pulls him back. 

“Fucking relax,” Thorfinn says, listening to the sound of the boy’s ragged breathing. “I’m just undoing the knot.”

The boy says nothing but nods, Thorfinn spots it out of the corner of his eye. He reaches forward again, the bits of leather string trapped between both his fingers. Slowly he starts to undo the knot, remembering his father’s words. It’s a tight knot but one pull from the middle and it falls apart. When it’s untangled, he pulls at the string, slowly, trying to keep the key looped in.

The key glints in the darkness as Thorfinn delicately clasps it between his fingers, off of Askeladd’s neck. “Alright,” he says quietly. “I’ll take you to the storage room now.”

Thorfinn turns around, the boy pulling at him. They walk out of the cabin and turn a corner to another doorway. Slowly, he turns the knob and they walk down a small flight of stairs. The boy stares at the storage room hungrily, eyes going a little wide. Salted fish are hooked and stored hanging from the ceiling. There’s crates of cheese and bread and a chest underneath one of the tables. Carefully, he bends down, the boy going down with him, sliding the chest out from the table. He slots the key in, turns it.

Cautiously, he opens the trunk and there, folded over twice is the seal skin.

The boy leans over again. “Pick it up,” he says.

Wordlessly, Thorfinn collects up the skin, puts the chest back where it was and slips the key into his pocket. They march up the stairs, the boy more emboldened, pressing the knife into Thorfinn’s throat, not too deep but enough to leave a thin trail of blood where the blade touches. Thorfinn hisses.

When they reach up to the , he pushes Thorfinn up to the railing, the blade stinging his throat. He shoves the seal skin into the boy’s waiting hand. And then the pressure on his throat disappears, he turns around. The boy’s long hair, blown by the wind. The seaweed still hanging over his shoulders, like a thick winter cloak. He’s clutching the seal skin close to his chest, the dagger in his other hand.

He looks off to the side, tosses the knife and it clatters around uselessly on the deck. “Now’s your chance,” he says resolutely. “Will you kill me?”

He’s staring at Thorfinn, eyes murderous. Thorfinn swallows, his hand twitches. He thinks about grabbing the knife and cutting the boy’s throat open right then and there and then the feeling ebbs. Like the waves, washing away whatever’s on the sand, clean as if nothing had transpired. He clenches his fists and then his hands go limp.

“No,” he says, ducking his head down so the boy doesn’t see. 

The boy laughs. “I see.” Thorfinn looks up, the mirth in the boy's eyes still there as he continues, “You are a kind soul. That much I can discern.”

Thorfinn is silent. The boy turns and Thorfinn’s eyes follow his. He’s staring at the dagger, perfectly still on the deck. The boy clutches the seal skin. Then his right hand moves, reaching for something on his left hand. He holds it up to the light. It glints in the moonlight, Thorfinn stares. It’s a small ring with a jewel that looks like a pearl. A pearl that shines with all the colours of the rainbow.

“I know that man wanted it, but I leave this for you--for sparing my life,” he says. “But first, your name?”

“Thorfinn.”

“Thorfinn,” the boy repeats, walking up to him. Thorfinn’s eyes widen as the boy clasps his hand, feeling the cool metal of the ring in his hand. The boy leans in close to his ear, their bodies just barely touching, seal skin a wedge between them. “I leave you with my ring and these words: When dusk turns to dawn and the moon is no more, repeat these words to settle the score.”

Before Thorfinn can react, the boy shoves him from behind, and he loses his balance. He turns around as if in slow motion as the boy climbs the railings and jumps into the ocean. He collapses onto the wooden floorboards of the deck, fingers still clutched around the ring. He crawls over to where the dagger has fallen and pockets it.

  
Three years later, Thorfinn manages to find employment on another ship.

Askeladd disbands his not long after Bjorn’s death. It’s an odd thing, how Bjorn dies. He’s sick with fever one morning, only to grow worse in the coming days and then one day, when Thorfinn’s doing most of the heavy work, the door to the cabin swings open and Bjorn walks out. He stares at them as if in a fog, hunched over.

“Bjorn,” Askeladd says.

Bjorn turns, looks at Askeladd then collapses. Askeladd manages to grab him before he hits the ground, his eyes roll into his head and he starts to foam at the mouth. Askeladd disbands the fishing vessel quietly, he doesn’t speak much to Thorfinn--less so than in the morning when he’d found the key to the chest on his pillow and the strange blond haired boy missing. He doesn’t ask Thorfinn what happened then and doesn’t ask whether he’ll be at Bjorn’s funeral, though he spots him at the back, leaning up against a wall as if bored.

The fishing vessel he’s found himself on is helmed by Leif and his son, named after Thorfinn during the years he’d gone missing. They’re a three man team, though Leif’s not as agile as he used to be, they manage to grab another man, Einar by chance. He’s looking for a job and Leif’s happy enough to provide it. 

With the four men on board, it should feel cramped but it doesn’t. Leif’s vessel is larger than Askeladd so he bunks separately with Einar. Leif and his son have their own compartment they share together. Einar tends to talk a lot, though it doesn’t strike a nerve the way Askeladd did. He attributes it to the fact that Einar actually pulls his weight--that and the strange fog that seems to hang over him ever since Bjorn’s death. Though he has his doubts, the fog may have been there even before his death, maybe it’s his father’s or the strange boy with the long hair.

His mind wanders to him often, the ring burning a strange hole in his pocket but he keeps it with him, like a charm, to ward off bad luck.

“Why’re you talking to him?” Leif’s son asks one day, when he thinks Thorfinn is farther away than he actually is. “He’s not interested.”

Einar shrugs. “Ain’t no harm in talking to people, Bug-eyes.”

Leif’s son fumes and unfortunately, it catches on in the next village they pass by. 

There’s a cheery banter between Einar, Leif and even Bug-eyes, though more begrudgingly. Einar likes to talk about his life before he joined Leif’s crew, an aimless wanderer looking for a place to settle. At night, that’s when him and Einar trade stories. Einar tells Thorfinn tall tales from his youth. Tales of women with fins like fish, sailors being enchanted by women on rocky shores singing sweet songs. And tales of the seal people. 

“They’re, y’know,” Einar says, waving his bloody knife around.

“Like what?”

“Seals,” he says with finality. “They’re seals but they can take off their skin and then they’re normal human beings only--uh, prettier, I think.”

“So like a seal person or something?”

“Yeah, can’t really remember the name but they die if you burn their seal skins.”

“Selkies,” Bug-eyes says.

“What?”

He sighs. “What you’re talking about,” he says, slipping the knife into the fish. “They’re called selkies. They’re supposed to be beautiful and bewitching, there’s stories about them being captured by men and holding them hostage by taking their skins or something along those lines.”

Einar jabs his knife in the air. “Yeah, that’s the gist of it.”

Thorfinn rubs his nose with his thumb, knife and fish still in hand. He looks down at the deck, filthy with fish debris and salt water, trying hard not to recall that strange boy with pale milky skin, long blond hair and his seaweed cloak. He shrugs. “This is the first time I’ve heard of such a thing,” he says, softly.

Bug-eyes hums, taking up another fish and gutting it, tosses it in a barrel. 

“Y’know, I’m surprised,” Einar says from his top bunk.

“About what?”

“Nothin’, just thought you’d know more about sea monsters and such. And sea poems.”

“Sea what?”

“Poems, you know stories--mythologies that come in verse.”

Thorfinn turns so that he’s facing the wall. “I really don’t.”

“Ain’t nothin’ to it, I mean.”

He hears Einar shift in his bed and pictures him pulling up the blankets over himself. It tends to get cold at night, Thorfinn’s learned long ago, even with extra blankets. He hears Bug-eyes shuffling around in his own bunk. 

“Einar,” he says as if drowning and clinging to a piece of driftwood.

Einar’s silent at first, there’s noise of sheets being rumpled. “You say somethin’?”

Thorfinn pulls himself up, clutching the edges of his blanket. “Nevermind.”

“Well, alright then.”

  
“My god, it’s beautiful,” Einar says as he’s turning the ring over in between his fingers. “Where’d you say you got this again?”

It’s a few minutes before dawn, the sun’s not quite up but there’s orange on the horizon. Einar’s holding up the ring to the very faint light that comes through the port window. Even then, the pearl on the ring sparkles in all different colours. Thorfinn looks down at his hands, sitting on his bed. “From someone.”

“Was it the same person you mutter about in your sleep?” Einar looks back at Thorfinn, ring still held to the light, like he’s paused in mid-motion.

“What?”

“Nothin’,” Einar says, shaking his head. “Nevermind.”

He places the ring back in Thorfinn’s palm.

Leif’s staring at the sky when they get up on the docks. He has a faraway look that reminds Thorfinn of Askeladd, so much that he has to turn away from the image. He’s pulling at his mustache looking troubled.

“Somethin’ wrong, dad?” Bug-eyes speaks up.

“Hm?” He turns so that he’s facing Bug-eyes, then he looks down. “Nothing, but make sure you finish up early today, I fear a storm may be brewing.

Bug-eyes looks up at the sky as if expecting a cloud or a droplet to confirm his father’s suspicions. Einar passes past Thorfinn and puts a hand on Bug-eyes’ shoulder. “There’s supposed to be a full moon tonight,” he offers, shrugging.

Bug-eyes stares at Einar. “That’s not the same as a storm.”

“There might be some troubled waters ahead,” Thorfinn says, untangling the net.

They heed Leif's word and around the evening glow of sunset, haul in the net for the last time. Nothing happens and the boat rocks under the steady waves. The moon comes out, pale and haunting in the night sky. Leif has his hands on the railing, lips pressed in a thin line. Thorfinn's staring at the sky, trying to read the stars like his father's taught him to.

There's a sound coming from the waters that makes him pause, Leif stiffens at it. He's looking down, on his tiptoes, so much that Thorfinn grabs him before he can fall overboard. In the dark of the waters, he spots three heads bobbing up.

"Are those seals?" he says, still staring at their white speckled heads.

"Yes," Leif replies, stiffly. "Looks like it."

"Mm," Thorfinn says, unable to form words as he's watching the seals circle around the vessel.

"They shouldn't be here," Leif rasps out, knuckles going white as he grips the railings.

"What?"

"It's too far out," he says.

Before Thorfinn can say anything, Leif’s starts running towards the steering wheel and Thorfinn nearly loses his balance as the ship starts to shift and change course. Bug-eyes looks bleary from sleep in the morning and Einar doesn’t look any better. Leif still has that stern look on his face since last night. 

“We’ll go back home for now,” Leif says.

Bug-eyes stares at his father. “Why?”

Leif takes his cup from the table but doesn’t lift it to his mouth. “Listen,” he says. “I think we’ve made a grave miscalculation, hopefully it’s not too late to fix it but we must be fast.”

He tells them not to drop the nets in, so the day passes by with nothing to do except stare at the sky and clean the deck. Bug-eyes grabs a piece of salted fish and bites into it, looking pouty. Thorfinn looks up at the sky, hand shielding his eyes. It’s a clear day and the wind feels nice on his face. Leif moves from the steering wheel to the side of the ship, making calculations. Dusk falls all around them and they huddle in the small dining room. 

There’s still a full moon out when they make their journey from the dining cabin to the bunks lower down. Thorfinn stares up at it, beautiful and--he swallows when he thinks this, it looks almost like the ring in his pocket. He slips a hand into his pocket and starts to finger it, feeling the smooth pearl in between his fingers.

“Eerie, isn’t it?” Einar says, following Thorfinn’s sight.

“Yeah,” he says, putting a hand over his forehead to shield his eyes from the glare.

“We probably shouldn’t stare at it for too long,” Einar says. “My ma used to say it’d make a man go mad.”

“Hm,” Thorfinn says, putting his hand down.

He follows Einar down to their cabins and for whatever reason, as if a spell’s been cast over him falls asleep as soon as his head hits the pillow. There’s a harsh jolt, like the vessel’s hit something hard. Thorfinn opens his eyes, there’s still some light in the cabin, mostly from the moon. He slips out of bed, Einar barely moving on the top bunk. 

“Leif?” he calls out but finds the navigation bridge empty.

Thorfinn swallows. He jogs back to the cabin and finds Einar’s bunk empty. He touches the blankets, finds it warm. Bug-eyes too, sheets rumpled but still holding warmth in them. Some shadow at the edge of his vision catches his attention but he moves too slow and feels himself blackout from the blow. 

He blinks, feeling a throbbing pain that’s almost like having too much pints all at once. He sits up, feeling his vision sway from the sudden movement. When he looks to his left, he spots Einar, Bug-eyes and Leif side by side and eyes closed as if in a deep sleep. He rubs at the back of his head. There’s a crunching sound like gravel being disturbed. He looks up and someone’s kneeling down, smiling maliciously at him. Two other men by his side, though keeping their distance.

“You’re awake,” the man says, and Thorfinn can smell something rank on his breath. “Good.”

“What do you want?” he says.

The man smiles, revealing a gold tooth. “Aren’t you lucky? You get to stand trial.”

“For what?”

The man looks up at his companions and they share a laugh before he turns back to Thorfinn. “For trespassing of course. These are King Canute’s waters, now if it were King Sweyn, we’d have cut you up already but his majesty wants you to stand trial before you--.” He nods at Einar, Bug-eyes and Leif. “And your friends are executed, who knows? Maybe you’ll be the lucky ones he ends up sparing.”

The three of them start to laugh, loud and even then, Einar, Bug-eyes and Leif are still, as if in a peaceful dream. Thorfinn stares down at his hands, almost out of focus are the men’s boots and skins--seal skins light grey flecked with black spots, tied to their waists. He looks up and the man closest to him steps back by the intensity of his stare. “If I am to stand trial, may I have another companion by my side?”

The man stares back at his two companions, and they’re exchanging cruel smiles with each other, he shrugs. “Why not? The more the merrier, right?”

The two other men seem to nod in agreement. The man with the gold tooth walks over to Bug-eyes and Thorfinn puts his hand out. “The one next to me,” he shouts out.

The man stares at Thorfinn for a brief second then he moves towards Einar. He presses his forefinger and thumb to Einar’s forehead and then Einar starts to stir. Slowly, he pulls himself up, putting a hand on his head. “Christ,” he says.

“Alright,” the man says, crossing his arms. “We’ll need your names.”

“This is Einar,” Thorfinn says, nodding to him. “And I’m Thorfinn.”

The men exchange looks with each other as if amused. 

“Thorfinn, was it?” the man with the gold tooth says.

They’re hauled up and taken off the rocky shores. Closest to the shore is a small village, not unlike the ones he’s seen on his travels, though it looks closer to his home village than anything else. The roads are paved with dirt but along the pathways are strange flowers he’s never seen before. They sway in the wind and he exchanges a brief look with Einar. They look like seaweed, except with brighter pigments, light blues, baby pinks with yellows mixed in. They pass a garden full of colours Thorfinn’s never seen in his life. Full of even more bizarre plants that looks more like a cauliflower than an actual flower. 

When they reach up to the palace, Thorfinn can only stare back in awe and he can see Einar’s eyes widen out of the corner of his eye. Like a shimmering beacon in the darkened sky, the castle sparkles with the colour of a brightly polished pearl. The columns along the walls, maintaining that same beautiful colour and curtains that flow along the walls from an imaginary breeze. The material, so fine, shimmering like the ocean’s waves on a hot day, barely noticeable to the eye except for when the lights hit it and disperses the colours of the ocean on it. Through the curtains, as they’re walking past it, Thorfinn stares. 

He frowns, it’s dark but the outside looks wavy--as if they’re deeply submerged in the water. He turns and looks ahead. Seated on the throne is a man with milky white skin, on his shoulder a brown seal skin, it’s empty face ominous against his armour and on his lap, a pure white one, the colour of freshly fallen snow. He has an elbow on the armrest, cupping his chin, looking bored. Another man with squinty eyes comes up to them, his jet black seal skin fanning out by his waist and asks for their names. The man with the gold tooth whispers it to him and he frowns.

He jogs back up to the front and whispers something to Canute. The three men pull both Thorfinn and Einar down, so that they’re on their knees in front of Canute.

Canute waves his hand. “Speak your case.”

Thorfinn opens his mouth and clamps it shut, his throat goes dry.

“Beggin’ your pardon, your majesty,” Einar starts. “We was just out fishin’--.”

Canute sighs long and hard. “Give me your names first.”

“Oh, I’m Einar,” Einar says, nodding to himself and then turns to Thorfinn. “This is Thorfinn.”

“Thorfinn, is it?” Canute sneers, staring directly at Thorfinn. “Do you know how many Thorfinns I’ve had to deal with ever since I became King?”

Einar bows down so that he can’t see Canute. “No sir, I reckon a lot?”

“Much more, more than any of your lives are worth.”

“My name is Thorfinn,” Thorfinn finds himself saying, looking up and meeting Canute’s gaze.

“Fine,” Canute says, waving his hand. “If you’re really Thorfinn, then you should remember the oath I gave you.”

“Oath?” he says.

“Yes, the one I gave you when I escaped with my pelt, you should remember it.”

Thorfinn works his jaw, swallowing hard when he feels Einar's shoulder bump against his. “The ring, mate,” he leans over and whispers. “Show him the ring.”

Thorfinn reaches into his pocket, there’s a tense moment when the man with the squinty eyes walks up to him and the three men behind them freeze as if worried he’s pulling out a weapon. But it all mostly fades away when he pulls out the ring. He shifts slightly trying to balance himself with the ropes on his wrists, holds it as far as he can, up to the light and Canute’s eyes widen as it glistens. The man with the squinty eyes puts his hands out and Thorfinn drops it in his hand. He cups it and drops it in Canute’s right hand. 

Canute stares at it, edges of his eyes watering. “I never thought I would see this again,” he says, eyes still fixed on the ring as he holds it up to the light.

“You gave that to me before you left,” Thorfinn says quietly.

“Yes, I did,” Canute says, lowering the ring and looking back down at Thorfinn. “I was hoping to rid myself of it.”

“Your majesty?” the man with the squinty eyes says, concerned.

“It’s nothing, Wulf.” Canute turns to Wulf and then he turns back to Thorfinn. “When my father cast me out, he gave me this ring as a good luck charm, he said and then he stripped me of my skin and tossed me to the waves. My pelt he tossed to the other side of the currents.”

Einar shifts, mouth gaping, staring like he can’t believe what he’s heard.

“But I made a vow to myself that I would survive, you see,” Canute continues. “And I managed to track down where my pelt had drifted off to.”

“Askeladd’s vessel,” Thorfinn says.

“Yes, your little fishing boat.” Canute smiles, small but proud. His hand goes up and he touches the brown seal skin on his left shoulder. “That man, he was much too proud. Once, he fell a man built like two sturdy trees and thought himself invincible. Little would he know he’d be felled by someone much frailer and weaker but with more cunning.”

He beckons Wulf closer and places the ring in his palm. Wulf walks over and drops the ring back in Thorfinn’s waiting hand. The man holding down Thorfinn shifts, slightly and he feels it. Einar looks back and there’s some movement as one of the men takes a knife from his belt. He presses the blade to the rope over Thorfinn’s wrists.

“Hold,” Canute says, putting his hand up. “You must recite the oath I gave you, any man could have taken the ring from the real Thorfinn, I expect you to have it memorized at least.”

The man pauses then slips the knife out, rope still intact.

Thorfinn scrunches up his eyes. “When--.”

“Dusk,” Einar continues and Thorfinn looks at him eyes wide. Einar nods like he’s waiting for Thorfinn to continue.

Thorfinn turns back to Canute. “When dusk turns to dawn and the moon is no more,” Thorfinn says, Einar reciting it with him. “Repeat these words to settle the score.”

“Thorfinn,” Canute says, rising from his throne. “The debt has been repaid with the reciting of the oath. I release you, may you walk freely and sail the oceans with no fear among Selkie territory.”

Wulf disappears for a brief second and reappears just as the men are cutting Thorfinn and Einar free. In his arms is a seal pelt, similar colouration to the one on Canute’s shoulder save for a splash of white running from it’s face to it’s belly, with white speckles on it’s brown fur like an egg. Canute takes up the pelt and he walks down the throne with it.

He shoves it in Thorfinn’s arms. “This is yours,” he says hoarsely. 

Thorfinn tilts his head. 

“It was my brother’s,” Canute says. “May it bring you luck or fortune, whichever comes first.”

  
“Mate,” Einar whispers to Thorfinn. “This is the strangest thing that’s ever happened to me.”

“Me too,” Thorfinn chokes out, arms still holding onto the folded seal skin.

The man with the gold tooth presses his forefinger and thumb on Bug-eyes forehead then moves over and does the same for Leif. He takes a step back from Thorfinn and Einar, nodding at the jagged rocks eclipsing the path out. The two men behind him keeping their distance, deathly silent now. “Sail towards the rocks, they ain’t gonna sink your boat.”

“Thanks mate,” Einar manages to get out.

“Ain’t nothin’ Canute’ll tan my hide if anythin’ happened to ya. It’ll be rough when you get out, just hold tight.”

Both Leif and Bug-eyes are both asleep when they set sail, so they drag them both on the boat and place them in the cellar, where all the salted fish are. Thorfinn mans the steering wheel, while Einar unfurls the sails. There’s a sharp intake of breath as they head towards the rocks, and Thorfinn grips the steering wheel tightly as they pass through it. As if the rocks were illusions or mist. 

A fog settles over the waves and the fishing vessel starts to rock uncontrollably, as though they’re passing through a summer storm. The waves rise higher and higher, Thorfinn holds tight, silently praying it doesn’t capsize the boat. The winds pick up and Einar’s gripping the sails with all his might and then like a sigh, the invisible storm peters out. The boat still swaying from the violent waves but manageable.

They’re all sitting around the navigation bridge, Thorfinn still on the wheel. Leif has one hand rubbing at his temples, Bug-eyes has a hand on his father’s shoulder. “Selkie territory isn’t usually so far out, I wonder if they expanded.”

“Probably,” Bug-eyes says quietly.

He looks up at Thorfinn. “But he spared us, why?”

“It doesn’t matter,” Thorfinn says. “You’re all safe, that’s the most important thing.”

Einar leans back against a wall. “It was just a promise Thorfinn made to one of ‘em, is all.”

* * *

  
“There’s just one thing I don’t understand, Einar,” Thorfinn says. He has the pelt tucked under his arm as they’re walking down the street. 

“What is it, mate?”

“How did you know the oath?” Thorfinn asks, turning to Einar.

Einar shrugs, scratches the back of his neck. “Well, you kept repeatin’ it when you were asleep, it was hard not to forget.”

They’re at the front door of a house nestled by bushes and greenery. Thorfinn stares at the door, painted a dark green colour in contrast to the white of the walls. He knocks on the door, takes a step back as he hears shuffling inside. Askeladd opens it and smiles, briefly when he sees Thorfinn. 

“Could use a haircut,” he says, almost muted.

Thorfinn flashes the seal skin and Askeladd’s eyes widen and he moves to the side with enough space for Einar and Thorfinn to squeeze in. It’s a small, modest house and the kettle’s already on the stove, billowing steam. He pours a cup of tea for each of them. Thorfinn unfurls the seal skin on the table. The light catching the lighter brown on the pelt and the white speckles. 

“You’re one of them, aren’t you?” Thorfinn asks.

Askeladd’s staring hard at the pelt, shakes his head. “No.”

“Then--.”

“No,” Askeladd says, pulling up a chair and sitting down. “But I’ll tell you a tale.”

His eyes move from Thorfinn to Einar. They pull up a chair and sit down, pulling themselves closer to the pelt. Askeladd leans back on his, one arm slung over the top rail of the chair. “It’s about a boy, his father, a renowned fisherman and his mother, the recluse. Whenever his father went out to sea, his mother asked for the boy’s help in looking for something.” Askeladd pauses, takes a sip from his cup. “When the boy asked what it was, his mother simply responded, ‘you’ll know when you find it.’ It continued like this until one day, the boy found something.”

Thorfinn scrapes his chair, elbows on the table, pushing the edges of the seal skin, so that he doesn’t spill tea on it.

“He found a chest, hidden in a secret compartment underneath the floorboards of the closet. He alerted his mother and when they dragged up the chest, they realized it was locked. So they searched for a key but couldn’t find any that fit the lock in the chest. Later on, his father came home and started a fire when the boy and his mother was asleep. The mother became ill the day after, she lasted for a couple of months and days after the mother was buried, the boy ran away.”

Askeladd pauses looking at his now empty cup. “Years later the boy returned home after his father had passed away, he left behind the house,” Askeladd says, rattling them off on his fingers. “His old, beaten down fishing vessel, a lock and an old wooden chest. When the boy slipped the key into the lock, the chest clicked open. He pulled open the lid, only to find the chest empty.” 

Askeladd leans back on his chair staring hard at the seal skin on his kitchen table.

Askeladd collects up the seal skin, folding it over twice and sees them to the door. The cups, on the table, almost forgotten now, Thorfinn doesn’t remember finishing his tea. Askeladd opens the door for them and they’re all blinded by the sunlight. Thorfinn lifts his hand to his face. Einar’s the first to walk out and he waits for Thorfinn to cross the threshold. Thorfinn looks back at Askeladd, who’s unfurled the seal skin pulls it away from himself as if evaluating it.

“I was still searching for whatever was meant to be in that trunk and you brought it to me after I’d all but given up.”

“Take care, Askeladd,” he says.

They both walk down the winding path back to Leif’s ship. It’s quiet then, Einar has his arms folded over his chest, looks up at the bright sky as if in deep thought. Thorfinn breathes in, closes his eyes. A picture forms in his mind, that same throne room and a man with pale skin and when he walks closer, he no longer sees a man but a seal, it’s tail hanging over the edge of the chair. It sits regally on the throne, blue eyes that stare back at him, harsh, fur the colour of snow--no the colour of a pearl luminescent under the moonlight.


End file.
